


haunted memories

by Nagiru



Series: collect the stars [5]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Again: The MCD is canonical, Angst and Tragedy, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Doomed Relationships, Gen, I managed to get a romance and make it gen bc when not?, Relationship Study, what's a ghost?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:27:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22027063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nagiru/pseuds/Nagiru
Summary: Some ghosts are still alive, and some ghosts never manage to live at all.
Relationships: The Doctor & River Song
Series: collect the stars [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1411228
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	haunted memories

**Author's Note:**

> A fucking age later, here we go. The next part in "collect the stars", this time with River Song.  
> If anyone ever read one of my 13/River stories, you'll know I am quite unable to write some good romance between them. Do I love them together? Yes, yes I do. But their angst factor is so strong that anything I try to write always ends up _majorly_ angsty. Seriously. And, well, canon Doctor/River is a tragedy, so who am I to disagree with it?  
> Still, I love River Song's character, so I hope this suits her.
> 
> As always, Doctor Who and song do not belong to me.

_Remember all the things we wanted_

_Now all our memories, they're haunted_

_We were always meant to say goodbye_

\- “Already Gone”, Sleeping At Last

* * *

She appeared to him, a ghost and a promise all wrapped in tight leather and wild curls, and he knew this was it. This was his end. This was his beginning.

He, not surprisingly, ran.

_(from her, from himself, from the feelings and fears and everything, because that was what he did best, was it not? Run away? Always, always running. The coward who ran away, he was. The coward who ran away every single time… except for the one he **should have** )_

He met her again, because of course he would, he had known that, but he’d also wished to escape that, escape her, escape _destiny_.

He failed, because that was his fate. She was. And failure, too.

She came with space-hair and a dangerous smirk, wearing poison and perfume both, and he looked at her and _wanted_ , even when he told himself not to. He looked at her and could hear her voice, perfectly enunciating the words he had long forgotten (without never, ever managing to), and he knew she was _his_.

His… in a future that was already past, in a past that was already over.

Besides, he had someone else. He had…

_(someone else that was already gone, was she not?)_

More.

He didn’t need her. Did _not_.

Except for when he did, except for when he caught himself thinking about it, about her, about _them_ , anyway, and hated himself for it, hated himself for the betrayal and the loss and the _everything_.

Except for when he died, his last remains of hope burning out into ashes, his

_(lovedesirehumanityrosedreams)_

‘someone else’ gone, just like that, and he, himself, burning out.

Except for when he died with nothing, and was starkly reminded of everything else he had already lost, despite his desire to _forget it all_.

Once, he thought The War the worst thing to happen to him. He rather quickly discovered it was _everything else_ , because losing was easy.

Living with the loss was not.

He was born anew, broken and sharp and dark inside, too many shadows creeping in places they had no reason to be, too many memories where there should have _none_ , and he just wanted to _forget,_ he just wanted to _move on_ …

But he couldn’t. Never could. Never could do that which he wanted most. Never could let go of what could only _hurt._

Never could forget his ghosts.

Especially when they stared straight at him, smirk in place, curls bound tight and wild at the same time, and promising more of the truth that he despised and wished for all at once, confusingly enough.

She was danger and poison and space and _death_ , and she was just perfect for him, was she not? His guide for the future, his unyielding mystery, his already gone promise.

His — quite possibly but not necessarily true — wife.

_(he was quite good at losing those, wasn’t he? No… actually, he was just good at losing family)_

He was right. He knew he was.

He hated it all the more for that.

She was his — his Fate, his destiny, his future, his past, his wife —, and he _loathed_ her for it.

_(why would someone give him anything? Why would someone ever give him themselves? Why would someone ever **trust** him? Hadn’t they learned yet?)_

He just never expected her to be so much _more_ , as well.

His future and past, those were obvious. Those were clear in the journal she kept by her and their

_~~last goodbye~~ _

first meeting.

He just never expected her to be his _friend_ and his family and his _promise_.

He never expected her to be his _murderer_.

He never expected to find her, a baby lost in time, and lose her so young. He never expected to find her, a young misfit, and die under her lips.

He never expected to find her, lost and in need of help, and _abandon her_ , so much earlier than his last failure to her.

He had known he’d let her down, in the end, but he had thought, he had _hoped_ , that just this time, just this _once_ , he’d give her a good run, before that.

He should never _hope_.

_(‘the hoper of far-flung hopes,’ he’d once said about himself. He knew the truth. Knew the bitter old truth._

_He refused to admit to it, either way, because he hated it, ~~hated himself,~~ but not enough for this.)_

He held on to her memory as he died, and held on to her sight as he was brought back. He held on to the promise he knew he’d do her, once, and whispered to her everything she needed to know, everything he felt she deserved, for all he had already ruined her.

_(he whispered about everything he wished to have, just this once, and knew he’d only bring her even more pain)_

And she came back. Because he knew she would. Had expected it, had _known_ it, and had held the cruelest of joys for it. He had ruined her, but she was _his_ still. He had brought her unending terrors, but she would always return.

_(If you cannot outrun them, join them, after all. And, well; he never managed to run, despite his predilection for it)_

She held on, and he held tightly back. She killed him again, and he let go — she brought him back, and he _hoped_ , a desperate plea in his mind, echoing hauntingly underneath the promise of _more_ and the wish for _forever_.

She had asked him one thing only in her dying breath, and he would never refuse her that.

_(could never refuse her that, not after everything he brought her, not when he looked at her and saw her mother, saw his failures, saw the family he had broken apart, piece by glimmering piece)_

She held her hand out, and he took it, and he promised her everything.

~~love, a home, her death~~

_(he knew which of those was likelier to happen)_

And then, when she needed him the most…

He let her go.

One last gift. One last promise.

She deserved that much.

(he never could let go. Why would he pretend that?)

**.**

She returned to him a ghost, and he laughed himself sick when he was finally alone.

She had been his ghost from the first time he saw her; a beautiful, shiny ghost filled to the brim with Time and Space and Life. The ghost of a person he was not, anymore, and the ghost of a woman he would never be able to hold on to.

_a ghost he had lost before he even knew, and a ghost of a love he had been destined to, without even his consent. A ghost he had tried to outrun and had ended up running towards, because when not?_

She came to him a ghost, invisible to most, and he saw her anyway, because when had she _not_ been a ghost to him?

She came to him a ghost, and he knew it was time.

**.**

**He had one last promise to keep.**

**.**

She once told him of their last meeting in a bittersweet voice, remembering a time he would forever dread, and he refused to let her down this one last time.

He went to her as promised, even after he had lost her three times already and himself as well, in the process. He went to her with everything she requested, and, with fear and loss heavy in his hearts, took her to her last request. Her last night on this universe with a Doctor who knew her.

He took her to the Singing Towers and whispered his last promises to her, the last act of love she could ever expect from him, and knew he was only breaking her hearts for it.

_(two hearts like his, and history was bound to repeat; he lost every single one of his humans, but he always killed the Time Lords, did he not?)_

**.**

**She walked away, a broken smile on her face as she murmured about last pages on a journal, and he knew the even worse truth. She had been wrong, after all; she would still see him again.**

**Author's Note:**

> Quick reminder: Song is by Sleeping At Last ("Already Gone", which is TOTALLY a Doctor/River song and I would strongly recommend you to listen to it!!!)
> 
> I do still wish to finish this series, but don't expect any story too soon?


End file.
